Love is for Losers
by RupertsPheonix
Summary: Dominique Weasley is not your average witch-she detests relationships that are cutesy and doesn't think true romance is real. But what happens when she's confronted with her Quidditch captain, Garrett Goldstein? We she decide that maybe a relationship is worth pursuing, or will love forever be for losers? [Dom/OC] [Mature Content]
1. Chapter 1

**_Story Disclaimer: JKR owns the universe, and I own the clothes on my back. She is a genius, and I'm just having fun._**

* * *

**_CHAPTER ONE_**

I hate weddings. I absolutely hate cutesy couples. You know, the type that sit on the same side of the table at restaurants and just can't stop touching each other and feeding each other? The kind who say the most disgustingly cheesy things to each other? "Oh, honey bear, how's your pasta? Is everything absolutely perfect for my ickle honey bear?"

That's the point when I wish the killing curse wasn't illegal.

But mostly, I really, really despise the girl who wants to grow up and be a housewife. She practices making extravagant dinners for their "Mr. Prince Charming," and she has a scrapbook of pictures taken at other women's weddings which are supposed to piece together her own future ceremony. She starts naming children before she has a ring on her dainty finger, before the "lucky guy" even knows her middle name.

Yeah, I'm Dominique Weasley, and I'm one hundred percent certain that love is for losers.

It just so happens that I'm getting ready for a wedding right now. One that I'm in. My big sister Victoire is getting married to Teddy Lupin today. In about three hours, actually.

A French hairdresser is standing behind me, plaiting, twisting, and curling my hair. I feel her magically attaching rhinestone hairpins throughout, and she's using a very strong sticking charm, from the feel of it.

My sister, Victoire, is bounding around with nervous energy.

"Does everyone have their bridesmaid dresses? And bouquets?"

I guess I forgot to mention that there are five of us in the bridal party. And our dresses, as cliché as it is, are disgustingly ugly. They're big and marigold—to match the bouquets _of course_—and they have these giant matching bows on the back that my sister insists are just "so gorgeous!"

I'm going to look like a giant blob of mustard.

We all tell her yes—yes we've remembered everything on the _most important day of your life._

Forget the fact that she was Head Girl at Hogwarts, that she got Outstanding marks on_all_ of her NEWTs, that she had a career at the _Daily Prophet_ before she stepped off of the Hogwarts Express after her graduation. Forget all of those facts. Clearly, this wedding was the _only_ day in her life that mattered.

Ridiculous, isn't it?

The hairdresser stops and holds up a mirror. My reflection makes me snort. This was Victoire's idea of an appropriate bridesmaid hairdo?

My hair looks like a group of pigeons needed a home and decided to nest atop my head.

"Vic," I say uncertainly. She turns, her long silvery-red hair whipping around behind her, and I point to my pigeon nest. She claps her hands together in delight, and I can't stifle my groan of disappointment as she squeals.

"Oh, my goodness! Doesn't it just look _so_ good, Dom?" She seems to float toward me, and I cringe as she smiles even wider. "Now all we have left to do on you is have your makeup applied and then put your dress on!"

"Vic, don't you think I can do my own makeup—?"

"Oh, no," she says, pulling me to my feet. "You've got to match everyone else. Besides, I have one of the best makeup artists here. Her name is Betsy, and she's standing over there. Go tell her I said to use the gold glitter, okay? I'm going to go get ready now."

She bounces off, smile growing wider and wider. I stomp my way over to Betsy.

"My sister said something about gold glitter." I know I don't sound very pleased, probably because I'm not.

Betsy smiles at me in response and ushers me into a chair. And the face painting begins. 

* * *

This whole wedding thing is irritating me. Everyone keeps talking about how my sister_looks so incredibly_ _gorgeous_ and my new brother-in-law is _just the sweetest thing_, oh and we can't forget the ever-so-popular _aren't they just going to be the happiest couple?_

I want to jump off a bridge when people talk like that.

My mum and dad are dancing along with the bride and groom and all of the other people who happened to actually bring a "plus one" to the wedding (including my fourteen year old brother, Louis). I, obviously, didn't bring a plus-one, and therefore I'm sitting at one of the many round tables that surround the dance floor, sipping white wine, and looking at anything other than the dancing figures before me.

I turn to my left and see Garrett Goldstein standing by the pillar of the large white tent.

Garrett Goldstein is a fellow Hufflepuff (yeah, that's right—I'm the only Weasley in Hufflepuff), except that he's a year older than me, so we've never had any classes together. But we do have Quidditch practice together, so we're on friendly terms.

He must feel my stare because he turns and smiles at me, meeting my gaze. He steps toward me, and I pull out the chair next to me, gesturing for him to sit down.

"Looking good, Weasley," he says, grinning. "Nice dress."

I gesture at my gown. "What, you mean this old thing?"

He laughs easily, and I roll my eyes. "This wedding is kind of sickening, isn't it?" I say, picking up my glass of wine and taking a swig.

I feel him watching me, and he shrugs. "I think the cherub ice sculpture is what puts it over the top," he jokes, nodding toward the sculpture of the baby with too-small wings.

"Are you sure it isn't the champagne waterfall behind the altar?" I ask dryly.

Garrett shakes his head, and I can tell he's biting back a laugh. "No, I think that's just plain old romantic, Dominique."

I snort. "Romantic. Right."

I notice that Garrett is looking at my wine glass, and he says, "Your glass is empty. Want me to visit the waterfall for you?"

I shake my head and reach beneath the tablecloth. Garrett lets out a surprised burst of laughter as I pull out a half-empty bottle of wine.

"I should have known my chivalry wouldn't be accepted. Always have a better plan, don't you?"

I shrug, pouring more wine into my glass. I offer the bottle to him, but he shakes his head.

"Keep your stash for yourself, Weasley," he says, a grin sliding over his lips. "I couldn't bear to take it from you."

I laugh and nod my thanks. "You're too kind, Goldstein."

"I do what I can," he says.

We look at each other for a few minutes, silent. His eyes are a really deep shade of brown—so brown that they could almost be black. He's wearing a navy blue set of dress robes with a silver tie, and his brown hair is kind of wind-swept looking.

He's fit.

"You want to dance?" he asks suddenly.

I blink. I've just admitted to how fit I think he is. And we're friends. There's nothing wrong with dancing. I might as well make this ridiculous wedding fun. Especially since it's turned into Teddy's favorite song that he had begged Victoire to play, _A Cauldron Stirring Good Time_, which is clearly the most up-beat, fun song by the Weird Sisters to date.

Garrett is still waiting for an answer. I nod. "Yeah, why the hell not?"

He grins, and we walk out to the dance floor. 

* * *

**_A/N: _**_Chapter one down. Let me know what you think! :)_


	2. Chapter 2

**_CHAPTER TWO_**

I'm laughing so hard that I think I might pee. I verbalize this to Garrett, who laughs loudly.

"I think we've had too much wine," he's saying, but he's grabbing me another glass anyway, and now he's back, handing me my drink and dancing on me goofily and almost obscenely. I laugh harder.

I know that look my father's giving me from the table that he's sitting at with my mum and a few of my uncles. It's the face that I often get from him, the one that says _thank Merlin one of my kids likes to have fun_.

I grin at him and turn back to Garrett, who is still dancing like a crazed man. I can feel my red tresses dropping from the fancy up-do, and I shake my head, letting more slip out of the sticking charm. Garrett is grinning like a madman, and he pulls playfully at one of my curls, and we laugh as it bounces back like a spring.

The song comes to an end, and it's finally a slow tune. Garrett raises an eyebrow in question. I shrug my shoulders, but I'm smiling when he slips his arms around my waist.

"You're fun," he whispers, his mouth next to my ear as we're swaying.

"And you're drunk."

He pulls away enough to face me and his dark eyes are sparkling with laughter. "Only a bit."

I laugh again. I've been doing that a lot tonight, actually, which is quite nice. I've made eye contact with both Teddy and Vic, who've both just looked ecstatic that I've stopped sulking in the corner.

* * *

I know that my sister is leaving now for her honeymoon, and that after said honeymoon she'll no longer share a room (or magazines) with me, and I should be sad, but I'm more sad that I won't get to see Garrett until Quidditch starts up this fall.

It's not that I'm falling for him (because, hello, love _is_ for losers), but I had so much fun tonight, and I don't want to stop laughing with him.

He did hug me goodbye.

Not that I'm hung up on that or anything.

I am definitely not sitting in my room right now, still in my bridesmaid gown, thinking about laughing and drinking and dancing with Garrett Goldstein.

There's a knock at my door, and my dad comes into my room.

"Hey, little one," he says. I watch him take in my appearance, and I expect him to say it before he does. "I thought you would be just dying to change out of that dress."

"I am," I say immediately. "It's stupid and uncomfortable."

Dad smirks. "Sure. So who was this boy you were dancing with? I didn't think you had brought a date."

I can feel the ever-so-famous Weasley blush creeping up my face. "He wasn't my plus one."

"Plus one?" Dad's laughing at my word choice, and I smile, too. "Who is he then?"

"Garrett Goldstein. He's on the Quidditch team with me," I say, not meeting Dad's blue eyes which match my own exactly. "I think he came with his parents, who work with Teddy."

Dad nods. "Well. He was certainly fond of you, little one."

I wave the comment off. "Nah. We were just having fun. He's a friend."

I had actually never considered Garrett a friend before tonight. An acquaintance, sure. A teammate, definitely. But a friend? Not specifically. But today he was the only one who cheered me up at the one type of lovely-dovey event I absolutely hated.

"Okay, Dom," Dad says, finally dropping the subject. "Get to bed, kiddo. Your mum is taking you and Louis to Diagon Alley to get your school stuff tomorrow."

I nod. "Okay. Night, Daddy."

"G'night."

He closes the door as he leaves, and I'm left alone in my room to think about the previous conversation. I unzip my dress and step out of it. I note that it's really very sad when a dress can stand without you in it. I slip into an old band t-shirt (The Magic Carpet, from their album _Free Rides for Witches Like You_) and a pair of pyjama bottoms. Once dressed, I make my way toward my bed, and in the process of getting there, I kick my dress from its standing position onto the floor.

I remember what Dad said. _He was certainly fond of you, little one._

Garrett isn't fond of me.

Well, I mean, I _am_ a bloody fantastic Beater.

And I'm obviously a lot of fun when drunk.

But that doesn't mean he's _fond_ of me.

I probably don't even _want_ him to be fond of me.

Probably.

Ugh. Whatever.

* * *

Louis is driving me insane. He's actually looking through Flourish and Blotts for extra reading material. As in, the kid actually wants to do out of class reading on actual class subject matter.

What a freak of nature.

I mean, I love my little brother. But, again, what a freak.

My mum thinks it's absolutely adorable that he wants to do extra reading. She says I should be more like him, maybe I'd get more Os rather than As and Es.

Sorry, but… Fat chance, Mum.

I pick up a book on Quidditch maneuvers instead. I hold it up to her, and she rolls her eyes but nods anyway. I plop the book on top of my stack of school books and tap my fingers to the beat of that Weird Sisters' song that Garrett and I danced to last night.

Mum catches me doing it, and I stop immediately. I don't need to her to start asking about Garrett when there's clearly nothing to ask about anyway. I decide to change the subject before it's even brought up.

"Merlin, Lou, save me a title or two to buy you for Christmas, would you?"


	3. Chapter 3

**_CHAPTER THREE_**

Garrett sent me a letter. His owl was just tapping away like crazy at my bedroom window when Mum, Louis, and I got home from Diagon Alley. I was just putting together all of my school supplies when I heard his beak first hit the glass.

At first, I thought it was my best friend, Millie, who had missed the wedding due to a conflict with her family's yearly holiday to the Mediterranean. But when I realised it wasn't Millie's neat cursive writing on the envelope, I was incredibly confused.

I've been staring at the parchment for a solid ten minutes or so now.

_Weasley—_

_Tell your sister and Lupin that they know how to throw one hell of a party—champagne waterfall and all._

_In all seriousness, I had a lot of fun last night. I hope I didn't dance too inappropriately (although my mother seems to think that I "flew right out of the quidditch pitch of decency!"), but if I made you uncomfortable at all, my sincere apologies. _

_That being said, I hope you had as much fun as I did. If so, a couple of us seventh-year quidditch players are meeting in a compartment on September 1, and I made an executive decision as captain to invite you. We'll be in the second car on the train, first compartment if you're up for sitting with us._

_—__Garrett_

I'm seriously trying not to freak out, but boys don't usually send me letters over the summer. Well, some of them do, but those are usually situations I try to avoid… I'm not the kind of girl that thinks clingy is cute. In fact, I'm not really the kind of girl who is attracted to anything that could be remotely called cute. Usually.

Garrett Goldstein is clearly throwing my mojo off, and I am not liking it.

Except that I kind of am.

I had a lot of fun with him last night, which is really saying something, considering I thought it would be in my top ten worst nights ever.

I slam my face into my desktop.

"Dominique? What are you doing up zhere, young lady?" My mother's voice is concerned, and I know she's about to come in and ask if I want to talk about it.

"What iz going on?" she says, leaning on my doorframe, her pretty, silvery hair slung over her shoulder.

I shrug. "Nothing. Just thinking."

"About?"

I lie quickly. "About how I need to pack all of this junk up so we can leave this weekend."

She nods, probably knowing I'm lying (because mothers always seem to know stuff like that), and smiles, "Okay, well, if you need me, I vill be in ze kitchen."

"Thanks, Mum," I say, standing up from my desk chair and walking to my dresser. In the split second before she leaves, I decide to reveal my boy troubles. (I hate myself for even using that phrase.)

"Mum, if a boy writes you a letter and asks you to sit with him and his friends on the train, are you supposed to write back?"

She pauses, bites her lip, obviously holding back a knowing grin, and nods her head. "Yez, but do not zend it until tomorrow. Mystery is your bezz friend, Dominique."

And my wonderful mother has the good grace to smile and step away without asking any further questions. I love her. 

I have been trying to write this godforsaken letter for over an hour. I finally decide to re-read his letter for the millionth time and just respond to his question.

It hits me.

_Goldstein—_

_Really subtle way to announce yourself as captain. Just kidding—kind of. Congrats! Though I do expect to be excused from the tryout process this season… I mean, you did gyrate on me and out of the quidditch pitch of decency and all._

_See you on the train._

_—__Dominique_

I figure that's sarcastic and funny, right? Not out of character, either… I finally applaud myself on a letter well written and seal the envelope. I plop it on top of my desk and plan to send it tomorrow morning.

Mum calls me to the kitchen shortly after I close up the letter, and I realise in the time I spent writing my response, Dad has already gotten home.

"Dinner iz ready," Mum says, levitating four plates from the counter to the table.

"Smells amazing, love," Dad says, pecking Mum on the cheek and then sitting down. Dad takes a swig of butterbeer before turning to me. "Did you get everything you need for school?"

I nod. "Yep, I'm all set. All I've got left is packing."

Louis butts in, "I've already gotten my packing done."

I kick him under the table. "That's because you've got nothing better to do, you little git."

Mum chides me and tells me to eat my dinner, but Dad looks slightly amused at the two of us. We eat the rest of our dinner listening to Dad tell us about what's new at Gringotts and wondering how Victoire and Teddy are liking their honeymoon on the beach. 


End file.
